


Torture Garden

by dolorismo



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Breaking and Entering, Cannibal Puns, M/M, Manipulation, Runaway Hannibal, There's a little dog named Bo who snores, and there's salmon cooking, between two messed up men, there's also a very unhealthy and complicated relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28109853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dolorismo/pseuds/dolorismo
Summary: Molly and Walter are gone for the weekend, leaving Will and the dogs home alone.Will is ready to have a quiet uneventful couple of days by himself.But someone else might have different plans.
Relationships: Molly Graham/Will Graham, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Torture Garden

“I don’t like leaving you up here all alone. You sure you don’t wanna come?” Molly asked, comfortably wrapped in a wool scarf. Will thought she looked good in the cold. Her cheeks and nose gained a bright shade of red that made her look more endearing than usual.

He shook his head. “It’s just for the weekend, Molly. I think I can handle it.”

He leaned in to kiss her and was surprised to find that her skin was cold to the touch. Something about Molly always radiated warmth, no matter the weather forecast. Perhaps that was why he loved her. She was the light on the porch that lured him back home whenever he ventured too far.

A candle burning in a snowstorm.

“Try to keep the dog count under the three digits.” Molly half-joked as she adjusted her husband’s coat.

“I’ll try.” Will chuckled in return.

The car window was rolled down to reveal Wally who rolled his eyes dramatically when confronted with the romantic exchange. He had recently turned eleven and still despised public displays of affection. “Are we going?”

“Don’t forget to eat the salmon I left in the fridge otherwise it’ll go bad.” Molly warned. She gave her husband a quick peck. “I’ll call you when we get there.” She picked her bag up and rushed towards the car to join her son.

The cold caught up with Will all at once. As soon as she turned her back to him, he couldn’t help but shiver. His whole family fit inside the front of that truck. Small and warm and red-cheeked. Walter waved at him from the passenger’s seat while Molly started the engine. Will waved back.

Some of the dogs barked from the porch as the truck roared awake.

“Say hi to grandma for me.” Will shouted at the now slowly moving car.

Walter leaned out of the window to reassure him that he would.

And there Will stood, waving at his disappearing family, alone in the snow. The fire of that candle had been blown out for the time being. He’d just have to endure living in the dark for the next couple of days.

* * *

The salmon sizzled against the frying pan. Will knew it would stink up the kitchen. It always did. No matter how many windows they opened, whenever they were cooking fish, the smell would get soaked up by the furniture and last for hours. Sometimes days. But Will refused to eat meat.

And he hadn’t eaten meat in a while.

The piece of fish swam across the layer of olive oil underneath. It would be eaten with broccoli and a few boiled potatoes. Maybe some mayo. Will wasn’t an exceptional cook. Far from it. He just enjoyed the simplicity of a good fish dish.

In his opinion, if the food was good enough, it didn’t need all of the fancy razzle dazzle those TV chefs always insisted putting on their plates. It wasn’t a fashion show, it was food! All it’s supposed to be is comforting and good, not entertaining.

But, as he checked on the boiling potatoes, Will recalled a time in which he was spoiled with far more complex meals. Meals that he knew now to be riddled with horrifying ingredients. To think he had tooth-picked some of it out of his teeth, licked at it, _asked for seconds …_ It made Will sick.

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

Don’t go there.

Will focused back on his task. Someone talked about some game on some TV channel with some retired players whose names Will vaguely remembered. He set his plate down on the living room’s coffee table and watched the show without fully committing his full attention to it. He put some olive oil on the potatoes. The salmon’s skin was crispy and the flesh pink. The dogs played outside as he ate his warm meal.

It was simple. But it was good.

Will Graham was happy.

* * *

That evening, their living room was overcrowded with dogs. They usually slept out on the porch or in the shed Will had built. But, sometimes, when it was really cold, Molly would let them sleep indoors. It made Will happy but it thrilled Walter.

Those nights, Wally would leave the door of his room open, hoping it would entice some of the dogs to climb up the stairs and sleep by the feet of his bed.

It was a bad habit that neither he nor Molly encouraged. But whenever Will heard the young boy whispering praises and good nights to whatever stray decided to cuddle up next to him, he’d do nothing. Despite knowing Walter would wake up smelling of wet dog and with bedsheets covered in hair, he couldn’t find enough strength in his heart to interrupt those tender moments. After all, he had done the exact same thing a lifetime ago.

Back when waking up in sweat was the norm and eye contact unbearable.

Back when Jack Crawford had picked him as his prized bloodhound.

Back when he needed help with the nightmares.

The fireplace crackled.

_Do **not** go there._

Will gazed down at his empty glass. He had been drinking scotch and reading a book he didn’t remember buying for a few hours. _The Torture Garden by Octave Mirbeau._ A nineteenth century tale that spoke of violence and death allied with sexual ecstasy within “civilised” Europe. It wasn’t really Will’s style but it certainly beat watching the news.

He was trying to take a break from _actual_ violence and death.

Perhaps Molly had bought it. She was more impulsive with her books. Chose novels on a whim, took them home, nurtured them and, even if she wasn’t in love with the story at first, always found a way to treasure and appreciate the world that had been built within those pages. She did the same thing with people.

Will wished he could do it too. But it was hard for him to let people in. Even that morning he hadn’t been able to join her and Walter on their trip. They were visiting Walter’s grandma from his father’s side. His real father. And although Molly had tried to convince him to go with them, Will preferred not to. He’d just be on the outside looking in; stuck on the wrong side of the looking glass.

A small round dog named Bo got up from his resting spot near the front door to walk all the way over to where Will was sitting, bumping and stepping over some of the bigger dogs. It curled up right on top of Will’s feet and went back to sleep. This, unfortunately, meant Will was trapped for the time being. He would not dare move and wake Bo.

Will sighed.

Bo snored.

He leaned back against his chair in defeat, feeling comfortably numb thanks to the alcohol in his belly. Will tried to continue reading his book. Blue eyes went over words more than once, struggling to make sense of what they were reading. The fireplace, the booze and the dogs all gave him a sense of overwhelming comfort. He managed only to finish one more sentence before finally surrendering to sleep:

> _“Alas, the gates of life never swing open except upon death.”_

* * *

He doesn’t dream these days.

Will thinks he hallucinates.

Sees things that don’t belong neither to reality nor sleep. Too palpable to be blamed on his subconscious but too bizarre to share the same room as he. In his sleep, he’s still sitting down on his couch. But the dogs are gone. Instead the room is flooded with dark water. It goes up to his ankles.

Will worries what it will do to the carpet.

As he sits there, in his wet socks, the front door swings open. A shadow stands there by the entrance with its’ hand on the handle staring right at him from the darkness of the Winter evening. All the water comes rushing out onto the porch. It feels warm, Will thinks. That water feels warm.

And it burns to watch it leave.

Burns like blood rushing out of a fresh wound.

Will’s hand twitches against his stomach. A phantom pain he thinks he has overcome a long time ago returns. And although he cannot see the shadow’s face, it speaks to him with a voice he recognises but dares not match to a face.

_Do you dream much, Will? ---_ It asks _. --- I think of you often._

The water hits the snow on the porch.

Under the moonlight, it appears quite black.

* * *

His body vibrated loudly.

Will quickly sat up, suddenly freed from whatever weight kept him glued to the couch. His hand was still pressed against his abdomen. He squinted at the sunlight which now peeked from between the living room curtains. He had slept there the whole night. The room smelled of smoke. The fireplace had died at some point. Will vibrated again.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and pressed it to his ear.

“Hello?” He asked while rubbing his eyes. A small smile settled on his lips. “Morning, Molly.”

As he listened to his wife on the other side of the line, Will got up from the couch only to find that he had developed a nasty back pain throughout the night. He hadn’t fallen asleep in the best of positions. That would bother him for the rest of the day. Will asked about Walter’s grandma and her health as he made his way towards the bathroom, hoping a warm shower would bring him some relief and grant him enough courage to start his Saturday morning on a positive note.

Molly told him she had a nasty cold and that Walter had made her some warm soup. Told Will she thought he was a good influence on her son. Said she wished she could introduce him to grandma. _Some day_ , Will said, not really meaning it. 

He didn’t seem to notice that Bo hadn’t been resting atop his feet nor that all the dogs had abandoned the living room floor. Instead they were rolling around the snow outside, exploring and peeing and playing. Good thing someone had been kind enough to open up the door for them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading friends and sorry, it's been 100 years since I wrote anything. Hope you enjoyed, got a couple of other things drafted up, can't wait to share them with you guys!


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